The Crossroads of Life and Death -1

"Kh!"

I twisted my body hard, somehow managing to slip outside the sword's reach — but not quite far enough.

Rip!

The tip of the blade snagged my shoulder, tearing cloth and scoring a raw gash across the skin. Faster than before. More precise. And worse — he had already read the path of my dodge and thrust straight into it.

I scrambled back, putting distance between us, and roared with everything I had, packing the shout full of internal energy.

"Aaaargh! A Jeomchang Sect disciple is trying to murder me!!"

"It is useless. A formation has been laid over this place."

Following Chang-min's gaze, I spotted a stone cairn I had missed earlier. Keeping him in the corner of my eye, I swept the surroundings and found more of them — cairns of various sizes scattered through the trees.

A high-level formation, then. Something beyond what my senses could detect.

I had climbed this mountain for a full hour using light footwork, and a master of the Profound Realm might well have heard an internal-energy-backed shout from this distance. Whether an actual Profound Realm expert could hear it or not was something even I couldn't say for certain.

Or someone nearby might hear it and come running, creating an opening.

I had shouted to rattle Chang-min, but he didn't so much as flinch. That alone made it highly likely a formation truly was in place.

So outside help is off the table. While I was still making that call, Chang-min's foot shifted.

"Have you finished your thrashing about?"

The instant I felt his center of gravity drop, I shoved a hand into my robes and flung a flying dagger.

Whoosh-whoosh!

"Pointless—"

The Transforming Flying Daggers streaked toward his upper and lower body, but he closed the distance without so much as glancing at them.

CLANG!!

Before the daggers could even split into their dual trajectories, a single stroke of his sword smashed them out of the air. I had expected him to need two cuts to clear them. Forced to abandon my offensive, I scrambled to shift into a defensive form.

"—parlor tricks."

Clash!

The Jeomchang sword was not merely fast. The thrust that came diving in deep, body launched like a spear, was both swift and crushing. The force transmitted through the blade set my arms ringing and shook me to the core.

The moment I felt my hastily raised guard losing the contest of strength, I threw myself backward. The attack skimmed just over my flattened torso. At the last possible instant before I hit the ground, I planted a hand, shoved myself clear, and recovered my balance.

Before I came to the Jeomchang Sect, a retreat like that would have sent me rolling across the dirt in a pathetic heap. Recovering a center of gravity that had been yanked so extremely low with nothing but a single palm-plant against the earth — that, at least, was the fruit of training.

If I had gone tumbling, Chang-min's follow-up thrust would have skewered me on the spot.

I unleashed the first form of One Flash, Three Swords, threading it with the principle of hardness.

CRACK!

Chang-min's incoming blade carved empty air above my shoulder. A properly realized principle of hardness struck the flat of his sword — a sword that had been carrying the principle of speed — and shattered its line.

I tried to counter with the second form of One Flash, Three Swords, riding the principle of speed, but Chang-min's next attack outpaced my sluggish internal energy. His empty left hand shot toward my heart like a bolt of lightning.

Jeomchang's Sun-Shooting Sword Art treated the body itself like an arrow — extreme aggression from start to finish — so of course the style was fully equipped with techniques for close-quarters fighting like this.

I threw up my left arm in a desperate attempt to block the path of his palm strike.

BOOM!!

The heavy palm technique slammed into the entire left side of my upper body and drove me backward. I stumbled in reverse, step after step, dispersing the force that had burrowed into me. Even with my arm as a shield, the shock had reached my lungs — a fit of residual coughing tore free.

This isn't going to work. The gap in level is clear.

I had refined the Transforming Flying Daggers intensively back when I was training under Tang Do-gyeong and Dang Do-yeon at the governor's residence. Considering how few daggers I could actually carry, they were about as close to a finishing move as I had.

No chance of winning head-on. Should I commit to running? I was watching for Chang-min's next move with that thought in mind when he looked at me and faintly furrowed his brow.

"As I thought. You are not the one."

"...What?"

"You are not a vessel capable of granting enlightenment to Junior Sister Yeo Il-ye or Master Un-gyeong."

The look in Chang-min's eyes made something in my chest hitch, but talking was still to my advantage. I needed time for the force that had punched through my lungs to settle.

"What makes you so sure? Did you find some proof that I can't give enlightenment?"

"You are not a martial artist."

Chang-min stated it as fact. The certainty rooted in his eyes was enough to make me pause.

"I already believed you were not the sort of person who could grant enlightenment to my junior sister and my master — and yet something still felt off. During the few days we trained our bodies together, you applied yourself reasonably well. A lingering doubt remained: what if I had misjudged you?"

Chang-min's killing intent swelled until it was hard to breathe. The bloodlust he had shown so far had already been extraordinary, but if there had been even a sliver of room left for hesitation, he had now stripped that last scrap of attachment away. Absolute, unreserved pressure.

"A true martial artist, in his final moment, would hone his spirit to land even a single cut. Yet even at the brink, you are calculating how to run."

So now I can kill you without hesitation.

Chang-min's stance shifted as he murmured it. His upper body leaned back; at the same time, his center of gravity sank low. The form of Bow-Body Bullet Shadow — Jeomchang's secret ultimate technique, and the name of a realm of movement arts in its own right.

The already punishing speed of his sword came screaming toward me even faster.

"Will he be all right?"

Hyeok Gi-rin spoke the words almost without thinking, watching Heukmyo's back as the other woman walked ahead. Heukmyo, a sack of puffed rice larger than her own body slung over one shoulder, humming under her breath, answered without missing a beat.

"He'll be fine! Once we start handing these out to the kids, they'll be gone in no time. Honestly, even this much might not be enough, don't you think?"

"Haha... I think that much puffed rice will be more than sufficient."

Hyeok Gi-rin pictured the faces of the children who had been happily accepting the snacks and managed a wry smile.

"Hmm. Are you worrying about Seonbae?"

"Well... the masters have arranged everything carefully, I'm sure."

"I think Master Un-jong was right."

"I think so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠too, but still..."

Hyeok Gi-rin found herself recalling the conversation she and Heukmyo had shared with Master Un-jong the night before.

"Even so, it's such a dangerous plan. It weighs on me a little."

Heukmyo, too, was remembering Master Un-jong, who had come to find them yesterday to talk.

Master Un-jong's words had been radical, no question. To claim that a man who had spent his entire life rolling through the world as a wandering warrior had never once stood at the brink of life and death — even coming from a Profound Realm martial artist, it was the kind of statement that should have sounded absurd.

And after turning it over carefully in her mind... Heukmyo had agreed.

Heukmyo had assessed it coldly. A situation that looked, to anyone else, like an inescapable threat to one's life — would it really be the same for Ho Cheon-an? For one thing, his talent for improvisation was genuinely in a class of its own. Setting aside the smaller incidents, there was no shortage of things worth mentioning.

He had not only escaped Yeo Il-ye's hands when she had been so desperate to smash every wandering warrior she saw that she could barely stand it — he had become her benefactor. He had turned that mad dog Tang Do-gyeong into something resembling a human being. And after a summer trip that ended with a knife in the back, he had pulverized every last one of the enemies who had been operating in the shadows of the Yeo Family Mountain Villa for fifteen years — all within a single week.

Was this even a person? That was the level of his track record.

Heukmyo, who had been at his side for most of that journey, knew perfectly well that the majority of Ho Cheon-an's schemes had been thrown together on the spot, or reached without any long, grinding deliberation.

Had a man like that ever been driven into a truly desperate corner — every avenue cut off, nothing left but a single sword, forced to stake his life on killing or subduing the opponent in front of him or die trying?

With a knack for manufacturing escape routes in an instant, had he ever really been pushed that far?

No. And there won't be any such opportunity going forward, either.

Just as Hyeok Gi-rin feared, this affair was going to be extremely dangerous. Give Ho Cheon-an the slightest opening and he would dig into it somehow and carve out a path. A half-hearted performance would never fool him — which meant that what was unfolding now had to be an incident dangerous enough that a single misstep could get someone killed.

"It'll be dangerous. But it can't be helped. A martial artist has to break through walls. That's the way of it."

"...Yes. I suppose so."

Hyeok Gi-rin nodded quietly. Even Heukmyo, whose heart was full of care for Ho Cheon-an, and even good-natured Hyeok Gi-rin — they were martial artists too.

Muchí — martial-arts-mad. Among martial artists, the word was a compliment. Only those who went mad for martial arts, who went blind for them, could leap to higher realms.

Ho Cheon-an needed to go mad.

And for driving a person to madness, for plunging them into total immersion in martial arts, nothing compared to fighting at the crossroads of life and death.

"Empty your head completely and try immersing yourself in martial arts for once, Seonbae."

Heukmyo murmured it, thinking of Ho Cheon-an.

"Hah... hah..."

I'm going to die.

This time, I was really going to die.

Squelch.

There was a hole through my right thigh. When the first Bow-Body Bullet Shadow technique came in, the sheer speed had startled me into dodging too cleanly, too honestly — and Chang-min had casually altered the blade's path and driven it straight through my leg.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

After that, I had been swinging my sword in a frantic ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠blur with no chance even to stop the bleeding, and I could feel the blood pooling inside my shoe.

Breathing was hard.

Even when I threw up defensive forms, my control was a mess, so I couldn't fully disperse the force loaded into Chang-min's sword. Damage was stacking up inside my body. Every breath was agony, and I wanted nothing more than to retch on the spot — but I forced the rising nausea back down.

A vivid image of death rose in my mind.

I should have protected my legs even if it meant giving up an arm. That would have left me a chance to run, at least. No — useless thinking. Chang-min had to kill me here no matter what. He would have wrecked my legs one way or another.

Maybe I should have committed to trading a leg for something — anything — instead.

Chang-min's sword came thrusting in a continuous stream. Ordinary stabbing forms, pressed hard, as if to deny me even a single opening.

My legs wouldn't obey. Strength drained from my arms. My wrist bent at a wretched angle, and Chang-min's blade skimmed past my throat.

Move. Please.

Just hold on a little longer.

Every thought fled my head. No — a single thought filled it completely.

I want to live.

I could see the tip of the sword coming for my heart, moving as if in slow motion. But my body was slower still. Arms that had already traded countless exchanges with Chang-min had reached their limit. No matter how desperately I issued the command, it was certain: at this rate, my sword would not stop his.

So I focused. I forgot Chang-min's killing eyes. Forgot the body that wanted to vomit. Forgot the leg that kept screaming its torn, continuous pain.

There was only one way to intercept Chang-min's sword in time, and I forgot everything else in order to make it real.

I focused solely on moving my qi.

In the accelerated flow of energy, I felt resistance. The clumps that normally drifted through my blood vessels without much trouble turned into obstacles the moment the qi's current sped up. Qi was supposed to run free through the meridians.

Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Free to change speed and path without any resistance at all — and yet even when it tried to stop, those clumps interfered at every turn.

Please. Just. Get out of the way.

I ignored the clumps and poured qi through them. My body screamed under the rough flood of energy. Meridians could tear; blood vessels could burst — but I was about to die right now. There was no room to worry about the small stuff.

CLANG!!

I barely managed to deflect Chang-min's sword. The blade scraped across my shoulder. Blood sprayed into the air from a deep gash, but instinct whispered that it was not an injury that would stop me from swinging right now.

I didn't even have the luxury of feeling the pain. My legs had turned heavy as lead, and I could no longer pull myself out of Chang-min's range.

To recover a sword that had been knocked outward by force I couldn't overcome, I had to move faster. My legs were struggling more and more just to hold me up; my stance grew more unstable by the second. And to take Chang-min's thrusts from an even less stable posture, I had to swing harder and faster still.

In a world slowed to a crawl, I moved my qi with everything I had. I needed more speed, more power in every cut — but the clumps in my vessels kept snagging my feet. I raised my internal energy harder still, forcing the sword's tempo to match, and blood welled up from inside me.

A body already battered by shock, forced to drive qi so roughly, simply could not endure it.

A hollow laugh slipped out of me.

Those damned clumps. I should have prepared a countermeasure long ago — so what the hell had I been doing all this time? Elixirs? The Small Zhou Fire Wheel Method? Those weren't solutions I had found. They were solutions the Poison Doctor had found for me.

If I had truly possessed the hunger to advance as a martial artist, I should have devised my own way to overcome these clumps and control my qi.

I had leaned on the Small Zhou Fire Wheel Method the Poison Doctor gave me. In Sichuan, I had sat through Hyeok Gi-rin's lessons expecting her to find the answer for me. At the Jeomchang Sect, I had leaned on the Transformation Realm masters.

Only now did I understand the unease I had felt when the situation shifted from receiving Hyeok Gi-rin's instruction to receiving the masters'.

In the end, I had known.

I had never tried to overcome the problem myself. I had said, with my mouth, that I aimed for the Peak Realm — but what had the reality been?

I had known the Peak Realm was a realm of enlightenment. And how had I acted?

I had treated the Mixed Blood problem I carried as nothing more than the transmigration truck's cruel prank, and waited for someone else to solve it for me.

I had never looked at myself properly. I had resented the idea that I needed to pour time and effort into solving a problem unique to my constitution. So I simply looked away and repeated the same training everyone else did.

Because I couldn't stand the sight of that Mixed Blood. Because I didn't want to invest more time and more thought into something that had already made me suffer so much. If I just take the elixirs, this miserable thing will finally be over. I had decided that on my own and turned my back on the problem.

And this was the result.

At the crossroads of life and death, I was paying the price for refusing to overcome myself — for looking away.